


Hard

by Ammiedeo



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Demons, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammiedeo/pseuds/Ammiedeo
Summary: Suffering isn't a contest. At least, it shouldn't be.





	Hard

“It’s hard for me.” 

Now that…. That certainly gets Huxley’s attention. Normally, he spaces out when Amos and Jack argue, something so colloquial it’s actually started to bore him. He quietly feeds on the spicy reds and oranges of their annoyance, savoring the salty sadness that comes afterwards. Not this time. 

‘He did not just say that,’ Huxley thinks to himself, raising a slim black brow as he hovers around behind Amos so he can get a better look at the culprit: Jack Watson. Human male, blond, blue-eyed. Sort of stupid looking, like a dog that doesn’t yet know how to respond to its name. Big hands, broad shoulders, thick arms. He’s a whole foot and a half taller than Amos Tast, who is only five feet tall, and slouches, and has small hands, their dimensions rounded and soft. That doesn’t stop the shorter human from looking pissed, however. 

Huxley glances at his Keeper, ivory eyes alert, his black arrow-headed tail twitching at the tip as he tries to gauge a reaction. Amos is gaping up at Jack in disbelief, nostrils flared, thick brows raised. Through the shared bond, Huxley can practically feel the way Amos’ breath catches, sense the silent crunch when their jaw clenches shut. Their fingers twitch for a few moments, and the icy, lemon-sharp flavor of shock emanating from them turns into fury. Amos is livid, and it tastes like Habanero and garlic. It makes Huxley’s throat burn and he swallows thickly. The last time Amos was this angry, things didn’t go well. 

The last time Amos was this angry was last week, and they’d ended up with a broken foot after kicking the wall by the bike racks repeatedly. The time before that, they’d been a runaway and they’d assaulted a flight of concrete stairs as if it owed them money, resulting in peeling, bloody skin and fractured knuckles. If that’s going to happen this time… maybe he could convince them to move somewhere less public. Hulking out at the very front entrance to Wehrenberg Hall, where everyone could see, wasn’t ideal. Especially since there were so many stone pillars surrounding them. 

“It’s hard for you,” Amos echoes finally, lowering their bitter brown eyed gaze to the ground. “It’s hard for you. A straight, cis, white, neurotypical male.”

Huxley tilts his head, trying to remember what those terms mean, but Amos’ fury is making the back of his throat burn and his head buzz, and he can’t think properly. He gives Jack a furtive glance, briefly forgetting the other human cannot see him, and he feels a bit of pleasure upon seeing his brows furrow worriedly, lips puckering in distress. Guilt, salty and tinged with gray, emanates into the air between them and Huxley idly drinks it in, mouth watering. 

“Y’know, Jack, suffering isn’t a contest, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s harder for me,” Amos snaps, arms flying open as they point to themselves. “Me.”

‘They’ve got a point, sorta,’ Huxley muses, white eyes narrowing as he crosses his black bony arms across his chest, pointed ears pricking pensively. To demons, all suffering is the same. It’s sustenance, and it’s delicious. Well, most of the time. When it comes from Amos, which it does fairly often, he doesn’t lick it up with as much relish. Anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says quietly, his voice soft. Normally, the apology would make Amos shrink and fold him in their arms like a wounded baby bird, but now it’s different. Now it only amplifies their rage, and their fists quake as they take a step forward. Huxley blinks rapidly, ebony lips curling into an “O” shape, a single glistening fang sticking out. Amos is a very forgiving Keeper, and a simple apology goes a long way with them, but apparently, that’s not going to work this time. 

“You’re sorry?” they ask, the last syllable coming out in a barking laugh. “That’s all you have to say to all of this? That you’re sorry?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Jack retorts, the softness leaking out of his voice. “I’m a dumbass, okay? Happy?”

Huxley practically bristles, and his tail lashes defensively as a growl rumbles low in his throat. He wishes he could interfere, dig his claws into Jack’s spine, or make him fall over, or make him faint-- but he can’t. It would be breaking The Rules he and Amos established when they became Bonded. No direct meddling.

A small sound makes him snap out of it, and he looks down to see Amos whimpering into their trembling hands, shoulders shaking. Huxley tastes salt and lukewarm water, and he knows they’re crying. He perches onto their shoulders, digging his chin on the top of their head and glowering at Jack as he approaches, trying to envelop Amos in rough hands and large arms. Huxley hisses like an enraged feline, back arching so that his vertebrae stretch his murky skin.

“Ammie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Don’t touch me,” they spit blindly, ruby lips curling in disgusted fury, shrugging Jack’s hands away and slapping at calloused knuckles. “Do not touch me, Jack Watson.”

That makes him stop, and it’s his turn to gape down at them, lips parted in shock. Huxley smirks, skeletal hands placed reassuringly on his Keeper’s shoulders. Amos has never said Jack’s name like that before. Every time they say his name, it’s tinged with amusement, or flustered, or loving. Every time they say his name, it’s after he’s said a bad dad joke, or complimented them, or whispered tenderly to pull him out of his chaotic thoughts. Now it’s sharp and sour, like an insult. Huxley remembers the first time the name ‘Jack’ came out of Amos’ lips, tentative and fluttering with excitement, sending the taste of strawberries to Huxley’s mouth and making him gag in the middle of the campus cafe. Gross. 

“I never thought I’d be this cliche, but honestly, you have no idea what it’s fuckin’ like.” 

His attention snaps back to Amos as they inhale raggedly, pointing a small, shaking index finger in Jack’s direction. 

“Waking up every day and wondering how you’re inevitably going to fuck shit up or accidentally hurt someone’s feelings just because you exist, because you’re so goddamn different.”

They’re rocking now, hugging themselves hard, and Huxley digs his claws into the thick fabric of their blue button up to balance himself. Cars that drive by to drop students off after a fun weekend slow down, and people sliding their card to enter the building stop to stare at the chaos. Huxley can feel the eyes on his skin, taste the unease on their lips as they awkwardly turn away, seeking relief from the drama in their dorm rooms.

“You don’t hurt my feelings--” 

“Bullshit.”

Amos huffs, shaking their head again. 

“Every single fucking time I try to explain why I can’t be touched all the time, or why I can’t always hang out with you, or why I struggle showing any emotion, you just-- you act so fucking hurt,” they shout, throwing their hands into the air. “Like it’s my fault, like I’m choosing to do these things to you. Do you not think I notice? Like when you put your arm around me while we were studying and I flinched away because it made me anxious-- I was the one that ended up comforting you, not the other way around. It makes me feel like shit, Jack. Like utter shit. Do you not think I want to be a normal significant other that loves to snuggle and be hugged from behind, and is glued to your side? You think I want to be this way? Scared of textures and sounds, unable to perform the most basic acts of communication? Well do you?!”

After their rant, they stand there, cheeks ablaze, gasping for air. Moisture clings to their lashes. Huxley gives their head an awkward pat, nodding in approval. He’s never really seen Amos rant like that before. At least, not at anyone that wasn’t their mother. It’s vaguely invigorating. 

“I’m not saying it’s your fault,” Jack murmurs, voice cracking a bit at the end. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you are, it’s just.. it’s--”

“It’s hard for you,” they choke. “Right.”

With that, they rip off their bowtie and give a disgusted scoff, cramming their card into the security scanner. The door opens with a beep and they practically run inside, limping as fast as they can. Huxley turns, wrinkling his hooked nose at Jack and sticking out a grey forked tongue, snickering as they round a corner. ‘Sucker’.

**Author's Note:**

> Original work based on a more contemporary take on a D&D campaign. Huxley, Amos, and Jack belong to me.


End file.
